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This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
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Fit to Shrink
by Jeffrey Fischer
I grab the nearest pair of dress pants from the closet, pull them on, and attempt to hook closed the waistband. Attempts two and three fare no better than the first. What has happened to my pants? They used to fit just fine. Then it came to me: they shrunk in the wash. No, they were dry cleaned. Aha! The dry cleaners shrunk the pants. Yes, that’s the only explanation that fits.
I wander into the bathroom, where I see myself in the mirror. Slowly, in a fit of inspiration, another explanation starts to emerge…
Clearly, the universe is an expanding one, and everything has become bigger, except my pants!
by Jeffrey Fischer
I clipped my new FitBit to my waistband and started walking at a brisk pace. I imagined the steps mounting up and the calories burning off. Around the block – twice! – stopping at the doughnut shop only once, I felt like a man in charge of his destiny. Well, his body mass index, at any rate.
When I got home, I unclipped the FitBit to check my progress. 3,264 steps out of a daily goal of 10,000. This piece of crap must be broken, I thought. Still, surely I was losing weight.
I checked my fitness software. Two doughnuts, 400 calories consumed. 3,200 steps, about 150 calories burned. Maybe I could learn to love my weight.
Hope this week is going well for you, and if it’s not, I hope it gets better!
Facing a bit of a word shortage around here, but I’ve managed to cobble together a hundred of them, collected from down the back of the sofa and all those other places that stray words tend to accumulate, along with odd socks and old ballpoint pens.
Topic suggestion: You’re in a box… Why?
And a story as well.
As a youngster, I never really managed to fit in – always very much a square peg in a round hole, not that it ever bothered me much.
I enjoyed being a misfit and a maverick… I grew my hair long, threw away my shoes and lived the hippy lifestyle; above all, I was happy.
Then came relationships, commitments, the job, the house, the kids and all the responsibility and respectability that comes with it – I finally started to fit in.
So, I’ve finally found my niche; my corner in life.
I wish I didn’t fit in any more.
Nothing prepared him for the strenuous race. They told him it would be easy peasy. They lied. They told him to watch out for the spectators who, in their enthusiasm, tended to try to grab the runners; he didn’t see any spectators. Nevertheless, he ran like never before. He knew he’d be the winner. But the finish line was empty. Why? He didn’t understand. Suddenly, he realized that the “Finish” banner was nothing but a clothes line where t-shirts and a few diapers were hanging from. “Damn, I should’ve worn my glasses. This thing of looking handsome is not easy.”
I know I promised that your family would see you again, but I never made any promises regarding how.
The trouble is, I can’t just walk you up to the front door – that’s a surefire way to get caught, neither can I just let you go, that way is fraught with risk.
Which is why I’ve decided to post you back… Piece by piece.
The post office will take care of the details, all I have to do is parcel you up and add a few stamps.
Only very small pieces though… Or you’ll never fit through the mailbox.
The Spice Must Flow
Benny was prone to fits. In a normal family this condition would have been met with the best possible care. But the Baxter family wasn’t your average family, in fact they really weren’t a family, more of a long term breeding enterprise. A minor house in the Landsraad hell bent to catch up with Atreides and Harkonnen. Initially Benny showed great promise, but despite the efforts of this tutors he lacked that Kwisatz Haderach fire. In the end Benny ended up in the financial wing of the family. When the fits arose he’d scream, “My name is a Billing word!”
The Legacy Generation
My father’s generation was an age of indulgence. Heavy smoking, drinking, driving and eating took its toll, few lived to see the lifespan of their fathers. Our generation is having none of that. We are fit in a manner that would shame Adonis. I walked five miles a day, lifted free weights and embraced a plant based diet. I chose employment that would not induce even moderate levels of stress. We should have been called the Fit Generation, in the end we were called the Asteroid Generation. The Plant Base Generation is doing quite leafy well, fuck you very much.
Too Be Happy
Mary was always putting square pegs in round holes. And it didn’t stop there. Every aspect of her life railed against the rules of convention. It didn’t stop her from attaining multiple degrees and a string of Noble’s. Three of this writing. A loner by temperament she knew she would never fit in, that was until she met Rudy. He had a way of making her smile doing the oddest stuff. Gave it all up for him. “The research went on without me,” she would say years later. Rudy and her fit together and that was just fine by her.
By Christopher Munroe
I’m not exactly fit.
I mean, I walk everywhere, have an active job and find the energy to go dancing on weekends, but still, my lifestyle will catch up with me.
I drink, probably too much, my diet’s terrible and while I’ve tried I’ve yet to quit smoking. These things wear on me, and one day they’ll bite me in the ass…
I like me, I like most of the things I find myself doing, and if that causes problems it will at least be a life of minimal regrets.
My life is a good fit for me…
“Did you get a new car? Looks like you like Hondas.” Said the security officer.
“Yes, it’s smaller than my old car but it is Fit as a fiddle.” Replied the DJ.
“How does it feel to be out of your Element?” ask security.
“I was afraid as full as the Element got after gigs that I wouldn’t fit all my stuff in the Fit but I do love Hondas and gas isn’t cheap. I’m not actually out of my Element. My wife drives it. We looked at an Odyssey but she almost had a fit seeing the monthly payments.”
Fit for purpose
The scene: the campaign headquarters of a political party.
“Look, David, we’ve no chance of keeping this promise, we all know that and so will everyone else.”
“Call it an intention, then.”
“That’s still too definite. How about a goal?”
“A target, not a goal.”
“An aim, not a target.”
“Perhaps it should be an aspiration?”
“That pushes it too far away. Any party can talk about aspirations. How about a purpose?”
“Suppose we say the policy is fit for purpose? Then we don’t even have to say what the purpose is!”
“Brilliant, Jenkins! Give that man a pay rise!”
As the manager of an apartment complex, I am plagued with inane requests. The residents don’t think I am competent; In a fit of pique I have decided to respond to ALL this week’s requests.
Lights in the halls: I’ll reissue the glowsticks I gave the last time this was mentioned.
Weekly garbage pickup: A few grannys should do the trick. They’re usually weak. Hope no one tosses out a sofa.
A community game room? Awesome! – I can stock the garage with wolves, then hold competitions to see who can makes it home in one piece! Let the games begin!
I always wanted to be a dancer but I could never get any toe shoes that fit. The only thing I could ever pull over my massive dogs was red rubber boots and the dance school said a gag like that wouldn’t fit the dance routine.
I always wanted to be a tennis star, too, but I wasn’t physically fit enough to win any games. And then, when I would hit a ball into the net, I would smash my racket on the ground in a fit of rage. Do you think that’s why I could never get a sponsor?
Ned’s a small guy.
So small, he’d fit in a wine glass.
I guess that would be funny, seeing how Ned’s last name is Wineglass.
But seeing as how I’ve never seen him in a wine glass, I guess that’s not really all that funny.
I’ve seen him in a beer stein though. Heck, he jumps in there a lot these days.
Maybe if Ned were named Ned Stein, that could be funny.
Ned runs across the table and jumps into a beer stein, pulling down the lid.
Especially when he shouts for someone to put the cat outside.